Plane Runs into a Thick Fog
“But soon we began to encounter thick overcast patches and the visibility became poor. As we went through one thick stretch, station ship No. 16 loomed dead ahead of us. Some of the station ships radioed weather reports to us. We passed No. 17, on the port hand, at a distance of 12 miles at 10.04 (6.04 New York time), and shortly thereafter, while we were flying at an altitude of 600 feet, we ran into a thick fog.
“The pilots climbed to get above the fog, for it was very dense and bedimmed their goggles and the glass over the instruments very quickly. It was almost impossible to read the instruments. Pilots Barin and Mitscher did excellent work and brought the plane to an altitude of 3,000 feet, well above the fog. For a while there the sight was a beautiful one, but none of us could appreciate it. We could not see the water through the fog, and we could not determine how far we were drifting.
“We dodged some fog, but soon encountered more. We continued on, side-slipping and turning in an effort to keep on our course, until 12.50 (8.50 A. M. New York time), when we decided to come down near the water and get our bearings, intending then to fly underneath the fog. We came down to an altitude of 75 feet. The visibility there was about half a mile. The air was bumpy and the wind shifted from 350 to 290 magnetic.
“We changed our course to conform with the new conditions, and sent out radio signals requesting compass bearings by wireless. We decided to land if the fog thickened. A few minutes thereafter we ran into a low, thick fog. I turned the plane about and headed into the wind, landing at 13.10 (9.10 A. M. New York time), after flying a total of 15 hours.
“The water was very rough; much too rough to warrant an attempt to get away again. The outlook was exceedingly gloomy. We realized that we could not go on, and must wait where we were to be picked up. The wind and the condition of the water prevented our taxiing over the sea to windward, and we soon found that radio communication between the plane and the ships was difficult and unsatisfactory.
“We put over a sea-anchor shortly after we alighted, but it was carried away almost immediately. Then we rigged a metal bucket as a sea-anchor, and that did a great deal of good. The wings and tail of the NC-1, however, got severe punishment from the rough sea, and the fabric on the outer and lower wings was slit to help preserve the structure. In an effort to reduce the punishment to the plane, too, I kept one of the centre motors running, but nevertheless both the wings and the tail were badly damaged.
“It looked for some time as if the plane would capsize. All hands realized the danger we were in, but none of them showed the slightest fear. At 17.40 (1.40 P. M. New York time) we sighted a steamer, hull down, and sent a radio message to her. Then we taxied in her direction. The ship proved to be the Ionia. She had no wireless. After a little she sighted us. Then the fog shut down again and the ship disappeared from view.
“Later, when the fog cleared, we saw that the ship was heading for us. We got alongside at 19.20 (3.20 P. M. New York time), and at 2.20 were on board the Ionia. An effort was made to tow the plane, but the line parted. A destroyer came alongside at 00.35 (8.35 P. M. New York time) and took charge of the NC-1. The Ionia landed us at Horta. The plane was left at latitude 29 degrees, 58 minutes, longitude 30 degrees, 15 minutes.”
History of Navy’s Great Ocean Flight